Different
by SpencerRemyLvr
Summary: Another prompt "Spencer magical, not mutant"


Spencer Reid had always known that he was different from others. The knowledge had always been there, ever present in his mind. It showed in so many different ways. When he was five and was reading a chapter book at the library while the other kids his age were still having books read to them because they could only recognize maybe the random word. Or when he read a few poems out of his mother's book and then recited them, word for word, after only the quick read that he'd given them. His intelligence had always been present in one way or another and it had set him apart from the rest, even in his own mind. Some may have thought that it would be a good thing. Spencer could've told them all that there was nothing he wanted more than to be normal, just like any other kid his age.

He knew he wasn't normal—and it wasn't just his intelligence that made him that way. But no one else knew those special little things Spencer could do some nights when he was alone in his room. He'd never told anyone about his 'special lights' that would dance across the ceiling like his own star show nightlight.

Just how different he was really came to light when he was seven. It was another day with another fight where Spencer sat quietly on the floor trying to read a book and stay out of the way. His parents fought frequently anymore. The little boy was far too used to the sounds of it raging around him. He knew that, if he was careful and he stayed out of the way, he might be lucky enough to avoid having any of it spill over on him as had happened all too frequently. With his mother's instability, she would fall on him in tears, aching from the fight and seeking a reassurance that no child should have to offer their parent. Yet Spencer would. He would calm her down, get her to her room, make sure she took her medication and then he would stay with her until she was asleep. By age seven he was already an expert at handing the problems that came from living with a barely medicated paranoid schizophrenic.

It was his father that he wanted to avoid the most. For the most part, William Reid avoided his son. They just did not see eye to eye on anything. William never bothered to hide his disappointment in having a son that wasn't normal. Only a few times had he ever actually struck Spencer. Words hurt far more than fists, though.

This time, however, this fight was different. It was louder, angrier. The violence seemed to be a palpable thing in the air. Spencer swore he felt it building, felt it crushing down on him, smothering him. It grew heavier, like a weighted blanket. The louder the voices grew, the stronger this feeling grew, until Spencer couldn't focus on anything else. He never felt his book drop out of his hands. Pain was filling his head, his heart, his stomach. The anger and violence were battering at him like fists and it hurt, it _hurt_. Through the haze over his eyes, he saw his father lift his hand, saw him raise it as if to strike his mother, and something inside of Spencer suddenly broke apart. He shot to his feet and raced over, shouting with all the strength his seven year old body held. "Stop it!" When he got close, he flung his hand out as if somehow that would stop this. The pressure in him pushed forward, pushed at his hand, and suddenly William went flying into the wall.

That day had changed his life. His father had said nothing, only turned and left the house, not to return until hours later when he stumbled in, drunk, and passed out on the couch.

While he was gone, Diana Reid sat her son down in her big bed with her and she explained to him what he was. She told him that there were people in the world who were born different than others. Special. People who had a Gift. Some were gifted with the ability to train and learn while others, like Spencer, had a natural Gift that grew in them over time. Diana told Spencer about magic and how it wasn't just something that was read in stories or seen in the movies. It was a part of the very world around them. "My Grandmother told me that magic is a living energy that's a part of the very world around us. She told me that it's found in everything, everywhere. But only a few people can learn how to feel it, and fewer still have the natural ability to tap into it. You, baby, are a natural."

His mother explained to him that this was something that he mustn't tell anyone. "People like you, like my grandmother, have been hunted down for years, Spencer. In history we learn about things such as the Salem Witch Trials. What they don't teach you is that the hunting and killing never stopped. They've tried to stamp this out. To cut it out of the human population like a cancer."

"Why?" He'd asked her.

"People don't understand how someone can do something like this. And people generally fear that which they don't understand. They may appear angry and violent, but underneath all anger is a root of some kind of fear."

That was the first time that Spencer ever heard the name 'Hunters'. What he learned about them that day and what he learned later on in life was enough to haunt his nightmares. Hunters, his mother explained, were a group of people that operate outside the influence of the government, and who are dedicated to eradicating anyone with magic. Their sole purpose in life was to destroy magic. To that point, they hunted even the rumor of anything magical, and they were ruthless in their quest to destroy it. If someone was found possessing magic, the Hunters not only killed them, they would kill the entire family line to keep it from spreading and 'infecting' the rest of the population, because magic is passed down genetically from parent to child. Diana explained to Spencer that this was why there were so few born with the Gift anymore. The few that managed to survive and hide had mated with 'normal' humans so much that their blood had become thinned and therefore the strength of their powers was thinner with each successive generation.

So she'd instructed him on how to keep himself safe and to keep his secret safe. Spencer had learned about his history that night and, despite the horrible things he'd heard, he still fell asleep feeling just a little special. Yes, he could see the dangers and yes, he knew this only made him more different in the eyes of the world. But this seemed like a nice kind of different. He was a part of something special, his mother told him. How could he deny that when he fell asleep with the sensation of her love an actual presence in his mind? Even when the days dragged on and he suddenly found his father rarely ever home—and when he was, he avoided Spencer at all costs—it wasn't enough to get him down, not with the joy of this specialness inside of him.

He should've known nothing good could stay. For three years, the young boy had peace. Three years where he learned and grew and embraced himself and his gift underneath his mother's spotty tutelage. Then, when he was ten years old, his life changed once more. That was when his father left, claiming he was unable to handle this anymore. Unable to handle a freak for a son. Unable to handle a crazy wife. He left, with just a note for the boy he called son. Left a ten year old with a mother who was mentally ill and who, as time went on, lost the ability to care for herself so that her child was forced to step up and be a parent. The cozy little world that Spencer had built around himself came crashing down.

Spencer gave up play for the most part and he worked hard. He not only finished high school by age twelve, he obtained his first degree by fourteen. The first of many. He attended Caltech on weekdays and came home to care for his mother on weekends and he worked hard in all aspects of his life. In his public life, he worked after his degrees, always seeking more and more education. In his private life, he balanced caring for his mother and training up his personal powers. When he was eighteen, he finally was legal to have his mother committed to the hospital where she would get the care she needed. But even with her there, he never forgot the lessons she'd taught him. Even in her most delusional state, she had always made sure her son knew he was special. That his powers were a gift and that a gift was meant to be used to help those around him.

That was what prompted Spencer to join the BAU after college. With his IQ of 187, an eidetic memory, the ability to read twenty thousand words per minute, plus Ph.D.'s in mathematics, chemistry and engineering as well as B.A.'s in psychology and sociology, the FBI had snatched him up quickly, making him their youngest agent ever. They even made exceptions in almost everything physical to finally allow him to be in the field.

It was also what prompted him to seek out others like him. Throughout his years at the Bureau, Spencer encountered the occasional person who possessed powers like him. They came in all shape and sizes, abilities and strengths. One he met had only enough ability to light a candle and rustle some paper across a desk. Another he found could lift a full grown man into the air and hold them there without breaking a sweat. Once Spencer learned what he was looking for, he found that he could actually sense these others when he got close, a part of him recognizing that same part in them. Their powers were connected to the earth around them, his mother had always said. He could sense that in the others he met.

As the years went by, Spencer grew closer and closer with his team. Still, he never told them what he could do. Not until after Georgia. After Georgia, after the addiction that had dragged him to the lowest point in his life, Spencer had needed someone and his friends had been there. Derek Morgan and Penelope Garcia had come to his apartment when he'd been passed out from yet another Dilaudid high and they'd cleaned him up, searched his apartment and disposed of all drugs, and then they'd sat and waited for him. When he woke, they told him it was an intervention and they were not going to stand by and let him kill himself slowly. Spencer had lost control of his temper and ended up doing something he hadn't done since he was a small child. In his fury, his powers had lashed out with him and two vases had exploded nearby while all of his books came flying off his shelves.

There was no real stopping it then. Spencer had no choice but to tell the truth. So there, sitting on his couch in his now trashed apartment, he told them the truth. He told them all about his powers.

To his complete surprise, they hadn't cared at all. It didn't change how they felt about him. As Derek had said "You're still my little brother, kid. Now, what can we do to help you get this under control again?"

Help him they had. Without them, he never would've pulled himself up the way he had. Without them, he would've given in countless times through his recovery. But he had them and they were there, helping him heal, helping him live again. There had been questions, of course. Countless questions. Some of which Spencer admitted were logical ones. It was Derek who voiced the one question Spencer knew would come. "If you have this ability, why didn't you use it to get free when Tobias wasn't around? Why didn't you use it to break the handcuffs and get free?"

"The Dilaudid dulled my ability." Spencer had to admit to them. With it, he was admitting a shameful secret of his. "My own stress did the rest, blocking me off. But the Dilaudid dulled even my ability to sense things around me. It's why…why I kept doing it so much. It just, it made me feel, I don't know, more normal? I felt like my powers left me when I needed them most and I was happy to have anything that made me feel numb."

Years had gone by since then. Spencer's life had come so far from the scared, seven year old boy who had first discovered he was different. If sometimes that life felt just a little empty, that was to be expected with a job like his that took up all his time. And if sometimes the cases seemed to be getting longer, the emotions harder to push back, well, that was expected too. He would handle it, just as he always did. Like his mother said, these powers of his were a gift, and gifts were made to be shared. That was a motto Spencer had learned to live his life by.


End file.
